totus tūs
by Madame Rhea Di'Ey
Summary: And it burns, burns, burns. — Sasuke/Sakura, and the bittersweet aftermath.


**title: **totus tūs  
><strong>dedication: <strong>to Luce *shmooch*  
><strong>notes:<strong> okay okay so now I'm _sort of_ in the SS camp, hope y'all are fucking happy

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><p>For a while, Sakura hates herself, even if only a little.<p>

But how could she feel at peace with herself when she forgave him so easily, so honestly, after all he'd put them through? After all he did? After all he _didn't do_?

On the other hand, to love means to forgive; yes, to love means to have given yourself away to another so utterly, so completely, that you would walk through hell ten times over and still be ready to welcome the fire again and again and again, if they were to ask you to do so – to love means to forgive them for making you do it. To love means to offer affection and devotion unconditionally, to selflessly give all that you are to someone to do with as they please. To love means to abandon yourself in favor of belonging to someone else, and that's exactly what she has been doing these past years.

And to love so truly is the greatest thing one can do.

...At least, that's what she tells herself to silence the little voice inside her head that tells her she should've made him pay for all the thorns of grief he'd nailed into her heart for so long.

_But to love means to die slowly and enjoy every second of it...right? Right?_

"— Sakura? Sakura."

"Hm? Sorry, Midori-san, I wasn't really paying attention."

The older woman sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in a tired gesture. "Perhaps you should go home. You've been working almost constantly these past weeks, and it's showing."

Numbly, she nods; it was true. Working shift after shift at the hospital for hours on end with little sleep-in between was only helping to sour her disposition. But she was needed here – the war had left so much harm in its' wake, both psychical and physical, and someone had to mend it.

_But does that someone really have to be me? And, coming to think of it, who will mend __**me**__? I'm hurt, too, just like everyone else._

She strips the white coat with heavy hands.

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><p>Sasuke never really stops hating himself.<p>

And how could he, when everything around him is a reminder of his sins? When he can't walk through the village streets without feeling his heart beat hollow in his chest, pounding with such vice it feels as if it wants to break through his ribs? When he can't look at any tree or building without seeing it all smoldering, his brother's bloodied smile an echo in the embers? When he can't look at his newfound family without feeling a knife twisting in his guts at the memory of the hurt he's made them feel?

So, he leaves Konoha the day after his trial is done. He wants to see the world, to bury himself in the wilderness of a forest, to breathe in the salt of the ocean air, to walk on paths with only the stars above as guides through the dark – he wants to rediscover the good in the world, to heal what's left of his soul through the beauty of it all.

"I'll see you when I'm back," he promises her. _And I'll make up for everything, _he thinks, tapping her forehead gently, and the gesture pulls him back for a moment to a time when his hands didn't gleam ruby red in the sun.

_How much repentance will wash it away? How much kneeling, how many prayers? How much of my blood will pay for the one I've shed?_

A myriad of questions that lack concrete answers dance through his head, something akin to restlessness trembling uneasy in his chest —

But Sakura's eyes are green like home, young and wet with the beginning of tears of bittersweet joy; and somewhere in the angles of her face he finds more than an answer. He finds the solution that had been in front of him all along.

Suddenly, the war inside his heart quiets, and he can breathe without feeling fire wrapped around his lungs.

"And thank you," he says, a smile in the corner of his mouth. He twirls a strand of pink hair between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear, lets the softness of it make a dent in his memories; he paints her as she is now in vivid colors on his heart, so that he'll have something to keep him anchored when he'll be about to topple over the edge. "Thank you."

_For forgiving me when I couldn't, _he doesn't say, but the thought is there, hanging in the air like honey – the promise of a distant tomorrow, a secret shared between the two of them.

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><p><strong>notes2: <strong>idk what the fuck happened here


End file.
